We are how they made us
by Turiel
Summary: Erestor relives the past, due to the twin's probing. pun intended Explanations for Erestor awfully cold and terrible disposition.
1. Default Chapter

Hiya! I'm starting a new series—Almost Last Journeys. No specific characters, only short anecdotes…ok maybe not so short…of Almost Last Journeys. All stories are highly AU.

This story contains character torture and near character death. Mwahaha.

Disclaimer: I own no one except the bloody (literally) plot and my fantasising.

Almost Last JourneysI

Revolves around  Elladan and Elrohir  
Co-starring  Glorfindel

Chapter One

Elladan and Elrohir pored over a large map. A map of Imladris to be exact. Their twin brows furrowed with twin frowns as they marked out Imladris's external defences.

"I told you gwanur-nin, this will not work! There will be a bottleneck here, and here, and HERE!" yelled Elladan for the 40th time, very much exasperated.

"Elladan Peredhel, can you NOT see the clearings here…"

External defences at always been the Peredhel twins' job. They had a knack for knowing where and when to attack, almost an uncanny reminiscence of their father in his early warrior days.

Glorfindel happened to chance upon the twins starting a shouting match. He grinned as pushed open the carved door, this happened almost every single time they re-planned the external defences. Nonetheless, the plans were flawless each time. Imladris owed its safety largely to the intellect and capability of the twins.

"Now now children, don't bicker." teased Glorfindel, "you'll need all the little maturity you can get on this trip your father is sending you on."

Twin glares fixed themselves on the golden haired Seneschal. Glorfindel stared back unblinking.

"I am NOT immature at all, Glorfindel of the Golden Flower House. Regarding my not so bright nitwit of a brother, that's another matter." snapped Elladan.

"I beg to differ!" huffed Elrohir.

"Well, technically both of you are twins so if Elrohir is immature, so are you, Elladan." Glorfindel replied.

"Your reasoning is screwed up." shot back the twins.

After a silent minute, Glorfindel carried on to explain the journey that they would have to undertake to Lothlorien. As usual, it was to discuss military affairs.

"The old bat Galadriel probably wants to steal our defence plans. Old hag." mumbled Elladan under his breath.

The twins were not very fond of their power-hungry grandmother. But their grandfather however, brought them joy whenever they went to Lorien.

"Who sent for us? Or are we being sent?" enquired the more level-headed and sensible Elrohir.

"A messenger from Lorien arrived an hour ago. He left as soon as the message was delivered. Strange fellow he was, hair all over the place and slightly large-set for an elf. Probably the result of the old ba- I mean Galadriel's, lembas…" said Glorfindel rather detachedly, absently rubbing the back of his neck.

"Er Glorfy…hey Glorfy! Come back to your senses will you?" Elladan agitatedly snapped his fingers in front of Glorfindel's face.

"Huh what? Oh er…go back, you leave this evening." Glorfindel carried on, "Very rushed eh…strange, the old hag is getting weirder every century…Did I say old hag?"

"Go sleep Glor, you are mumbling unintelligible sentences. Elrond must have tired you out last night." quibbled Elrohir, grinning slightly.'

more to come soon! please R and R!


	2. 2

whee second update!

Matrixelf: Thank you so much! This is my first fic ever so I was kinda surprised to get your review! Thanks once again!

Chapter 2

El and El pasted charming and brilliant smiles over their slightly shocked faces, all traces of lust driven out from their features.

"Well, meldir-" started Elrohir.

"Don't call me meldir!" barked Erestor, fuming.

"Well then, m'lord-" Erestor narrowed his eyes.

"Anyway, we were only thinking to please you tonight," Elrohir cast a sidelong glance at the luxurious 4 poster bed.

"Then I suggest you please me another day! How about with a better History report than the last time? Turgon was NOT the mother of Elwing! Turgon is a male elf you pair of witless fools!" Erestor was going into another lengthy lecture. The fourth of the day actually.

"Erestor I'm sure we can leave the past for now…we're in the," Elladan traced Erestor's pale lips with expert fingers, "…present."

Erestor was quiet, his eyes betraying no emotion. For a moment he closed his eyes and leaned into Elladan's touch. Reopening his eyes, Erestor bit down hard on El's finger. Elladan gave a most unelven scream, caressing his hurt digit, he turned to Elrohir. Giving his twin a meaningful look, he stalked off muttering something about carnivorous beauties.

Watching his brother trounce out of the room, Elrohir knew that a change of method was in order. He knew that his more impulsive twin usually let his bodily desires guide his actions, and not his mind. Cool, calm and collective Elrohir settled himself next to the still-bound Erestor.

"Erestor, mellon-nin, forgive my brother…he is but a lustful fool of a Too- I mean Elf. Valar…Mithrandir is rubbing off on me…." Erestor threw Elrohir dirty look,

"NO! Erestor! I meant no such thing! Erestor…?" Elrohir protested somewhat violently. Staring into Erestor's dark orbs, thinking that his Erestor's black eyes couldn't get any darker. Well, he though wrong.

A strange emotion flooded through Erestor's body. Closing his eyes, he fervently prayed that they betrayed none of this emotion he'd suddenly been attacked with. Shaking himself mentally, he found, to his utmost horror, that his body was stirring under his robes. With a strangled scream Erestor jumped up and attempted to hop his way out of the room.

"Erestor wait!! Erestor what's wrong? Stop Erestor!"

Erestor collapsed into an undiginified heap on the floor, weeping. Memories flooded back as his world turned dark and Elrohir's panicked cries were nothing more than ghostly hollow wails.


	3. 3

Here I am again! Sorry I haven't uploaded in ages, was very busy in school, HAPPY CHINESE NEW YEAR EVERYONE!

Ok Tolkien didn't write much about Erestor, so I will take the liberty of happily inventing some of my own. Character torture and angst in this chapter.

Chapter 3:

"Get up, rat." snarled Lasrahir, kicking the prone figure in the ribs.

A strangled yelp followed by whimpering was all it took for the burly human's overly-quick temper. Large, frightened orbs widened in horror at the heavy metal chain that flew towards his shivering frame. _No not again…_thought Erestor, as he braced himself for the bone crushing force exerted by the chain, wielded by the only man he knew and the only man he hated, his father.

Seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours. Erestor had long since lost track of the pain. Everything was a haze of excruciating aching through his whole body, the steady burn of the chain, tears and blood. Pain. How much the word meant to him. Pain in his heart, _Why would my father do this to me. _Pain of his physical body, tortured and abused each day. No square inch of his body was spared. He closed his eyes as an overwhelming mixture of physical and emotional pain coursed through his writhing body. He knew what was next. It had been like this for years. 4 years, 11months and 31 days. He winced internally, today was his 50th begetting day _and _his coming of age. Groaning slightly, he realized he had forgotten his own begetting day in his pain shrouded stupor. Suddenly the flogging stopped. Erestor curled up into a ball and squeezed his eyes shut. Though grateful for the stop of pain, he knew that what came next, he would gladly exchange for 200 lashes.

Cold hands snaked up his tunic. He stiffened whimpered. Fingernails scraped down his chest, catching his dusky nipples. Tears of utter shame ran in rivulets down porcelain cheeks as Lasrahir relieved Erestor of his tunic and leggings, leaving him a naked mass of quivering elflings on the cold stone floor. Hands were all over his body, bruised and marked from years of abuse. New scars covered old ones, marring Erestor's white skin. He felt a tongue on this ear. Erestor shuddered. A cold voice, dripping with sarcasm, spoke into his ear, sending chills down his back.

"Happy begetting day, Erestor. You'll get your begetting gift soon…just wait."

_Wait._ The word struck Erestor like lightning. This spelt doom.

Expert hands reached for his flaccid member, gripping it tightly. Erestor whimpered.

"Today you will get your gift…50 years old…how old…" the cheap wine-laced breath whispered in his ear. Strong hands lifted his small mass and positioned him on all fours. Erestor trembled, not knowing what was next. Lasrahir usually bid Erestor to suckle his rod or ordered Erestor to stroke himself and make himself cum. Lasrahir tore off his tunic and started at the bindings of his leggings, his straining member pushing against the fabric. He positioned his engorged member at Erestor's virgin entrance.

"Brace yourself, cunt." grunted Lasrahir.

A terrorized scream rung high into the cold autumn air.


	4. Chapter 4

Here I am again! Sorry I haven't uploaded in ages, was very busy in school,

Ok Tolkien didn't write much about Erestor, so I will take the liberty of happily inventing some of my own. Character torture and angst in this chapter.

Chapter 3:

"Get up, rat." snarled Lasrahir, kicking the prone figure in the ribs.

A strangled yelp followed by whimpering was all it took for the burly human's overly-quick temper. Large, frightened orbs widened in horror at the heavy metal chain that flew towards his shivering frame. _No not again…_thought Erestor, as he braced himself for the bone crushing force exerted by the chain, wielded by the only man he knew and the only man he hated, his father.

Seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours. Erestor had long since lost track of the pain. Everything was a haze of excruciating aching through his whole body, the steady burn of the chain, tears and blood. Pain. How much the word meant to him. Pain in his heart, _Why would my father do this to me. _Pain of his physical body, tortured and abused each day. No square inch of his body was spared. He closed his eyes as an overwhelming mixture of physical and emotional pain coursed through his writhing body. He knew what was next. It had been like this for years. 4 years, 11months and 31 days. He winced internally, today was his 50th begetting day _and _his coming of age. Groaning slightly, he realized he had forgotten his own begetting day in his pain shrouded stupor. Suddenly the flogging stopped. Erestor curled up into a ball and squeezed his eyes shut. Though grateful for the stop of pain, he knew that what came next, he would gladly exchange for 200 lashes.

Cold hands snaked up his tunic. He stiffened whimpered. Fingernails scraped down his chest, catching his dusky nipples. Tears of utter shame ran in rivulets down porcelain cheeks as Lasrahir relieved Erestor of his tunic and leggings, leaving him a naked mass of quivering elfling on the cold stone floor. Hands were all over his body, bruised and marked from years of abuse. New scars covered old ones, marring Erestor's white skin. He felt a tongue on this ear. Erestor shuddered. A cold voice, dripping with sarcasm, spoke into his ear, sending chills down his back.

"Happy begetting day, Erestor. You'll get your begetting gift soon…just wait."

_Wait._ The word struck Erestor like lightning. This spelt doom.

Expert hands reached for his flaccid member, gripping it tightly. Erestor whimpered.

"Today you will get your gift…50 years old…how old…" the cheap wine-laced breath whispered in his ear. Strong hands lifted his small mass and positioned him on all fours. Erestor trembled, not knowing what was next. Lasrahir usually bid Erestor to pleasure him or ordered Erestor to stroke himself. Lasrahir tore off his tunic and started at the bindings of his leggings, his straining member pushing against the fabric. He positioned his engorged member at Erestor's virgin entrance.

"Brace yourself, cunt." grunted Lasrahir.

A terrorized scream rung high into the cold autumn air.

Erestor woke to pain. _Pain._ Her felt like the fires of Mordor burned where the sun did not usually shine. Propping himself up on his elbows he glanced around. Lasrahir was no where to be found. Erestor let himself flop to the cold floor – it was safe. Safe to release the torrents tears he'd been keeping inside since last night. Hot angry tears welled up in his dark eyes and violent sobs wracked his violated and ravaged body. He'd been _raped_, raped by his own father. He knew the consequences of Elven rape. In most cases the victim faded away, succumbing to the grief that would ensnare their broken hearts. He knew of the slow wasting away of the body, the dimming of the light of the Eldar, the tears, the emotional turmoil and most of all, the tragic loss of life of a creature that should have walked Arda tall and proud for many ages to come. He knew. Of course he knew. He had lost his only sister that way. Cuiledhwen had lingered for fifty-seven days before breathing her last. It was a slow torturous death, even more torturous for Erestor, who found that after a week, she had become an emotion burden. Guilt ate at his soul as Cuiledhwen passed slowly into twilight.

But Erestor was not intending for any of that to happen. He would not let himself become a burden for anyone. He was, after all, useless and inferior. His father had never once failed to remind him of that. It was driven into him with every bite of the whip, with every wound, every scar, and every drop of blood.

_He was inferior. Useless. _

Erestor wept bitterly, pouring out his anguish, hate, fury and grief into the salty tears that streamed down gaunt cheeks and into the pained cries that tore from his throat. He clenched his fists, his fingernails forming bloody crescents in the soft flesh of his palm. Erestor shakily heaved himself to his feet. Opening his closet, he haphazardly pulled on a black tunic and fumbled for his only possession – a silver pocket knife his late mother had given him before she left for Mandos' Halls of waiting.

Erestor staggered out of his house - merely a dilapidated shack in the forest. Erestor ran blindly, his tears lost to the wind. When he could run no more he sank to his knees and gave an almighty wail. Completely winded, he lay on the soft grass in the dell he'd landed up in. Breathing heavily, he listened for any signs of life. The sound of trees swaying and the wind teasing the grass met his ears. He closed his eyes in resignation and clutched his knife tightly, bringing it to his wrist.

Warm silver tinted blood flowed in rivulets, staining the grass a deep red. The birds sang nonchalantly as liquid life seeped into Arda.


End file.
